Gentling
by eggshelled
Summary: Carol's an old hand at dealing with things that bite. Carol, Daryl.


No beta, raw and probably confusing, set post Sophia

* * *

Carol grew up on an isolated farm with two sisters and two brothers, her ma and her pa. Pa was a big man with a big voice, but he never spoke much, he was a quiet man who enjoyed hard work in the fields. He'd come home brown as an oak tree every evening at seven o'clock, tell Carol to pour him a glass of whiskey, and wait for ma to finish dinner. They hadn't had a TV, but pa used to read from old journals his pa and his pa's pa and so on and so forth had written.

Some were about World War II; others were about the Civil War, the KKK, settling in the South after it was colonized. Carol's family had always been big on writing down their lives, like they were all special or meant something.

When her pa would read, maybe a page or two a night before and after supper, she would sit to his left, Karen (the second oldest sister) would sit next to Carol so that their knees would touch, Paula (the youngest sister) would lean against her father's right leg, and her brothers Paul and Jim, would sit to the right and center of their father. Ma would always sit down in her rocking chair while supper boiled or baked away to listen.

What they lacked in clothes, luxuries, Carol knew she was loved.

She and the rest of her siblings would divide time between school, play, and chores. The girls and boys both helped out in the fields and the home – her ma would make the girls cook and sew with her while the boys did a lot of the dirty work; scrubbing with dirty brushes and cleaning the toilets.

Out in the fields, the boys did most of the plowing, seed-planting and general maintenance. The girls were often in charge of the animals. Karen had to look after the chicken coop, kept it clean and took the eggs, and made sure their two resident roosters didn't always get access to the hens. Paula was to mind the pigs; fed them, made sure that they had mud under the sun, and watched which piglets wouldn't make it.

Her father looked after the cows, but Carol's job was the horses.

The horses were bigger than pigs or chickens and harder to look after, but Carol always fancied them. Her father used to say that horses needed a gentle, firm hand. "You don't get what you want out of a horse just 'cause you beat it 'til the whites of its eyes show. It'll remember what you did, and one day you'll turn your back on it will kill you."

There used to be a nag that would show her teeth to anyone who would come too close. Her name had been Thomasina; a gift from pa's friend. Thomasina, Carol thinks looking back, had probably been abused until the whites of her eyes had shown. She had been a beautiful mare; tan coat with white mane and tail, but she hadn't known a kind hand from an evil one.

She had scars – whipping scars about her sides and legs, and one nasty one across her forelock. There were smaller ones too; like spurs dug into her sides.

When they first got Thomasina, she would scream all night in her stall, kicking other horses, ramming into the door of her stall until she bled. Carol had thought at the time that this was the Devil's own horse. She was nasty and the first time Carol had offered her a slice of apple, Thomasina had bit her hand so hard that it shook for minutes afterward.

Needless to say, Carol wanted to get rid of her. She disturbed the other horses and made them restless, anxious and bad-tempered, and Carol was downright frightened of letting her out of the stall. She used to imagine Thomasina rearing up, all fifteen hands high of her, and crushing Carol's skull.

She never wanted to let Thomasina out, but her pa said that she was theirs now, and they had to look after her.

Carol remembers nearly crying at the thought of keeping the Devil-mare. She kept trying though; tried to groom her, nail her horseshoes in, tried to feed her treats.

Carol was always bitten; at the shoulder, her hand, and once when she turned away from Thomasina, her hip.

The last time Thomasina bit her, Carol swatted her muzzle and pushed at her chest firmly, told her it wasn't right of her to keep biting her when all she was trying to do was give her a damn apple. Thomasina's ears had flown back; she bared her teeth and had begun to rise on her back legs. Carol had been furious and gave the mare a stern push at her chest, unbalancing her to all fours again.

Carol likes to think that maybe this is where they became friends, that this was the breaking point of their hostility and Thomasina came to respect her, and they were forever together. This is not, however, the story of a poor Southern girl who manages to gain love from a wild mare.

This is the story of the poor Southern girl who didn't have enough patience in her to give love to the wild mare.

Carol never attempted to give Thomasina an apple again. She spoiled the other horses; Whiskey their single stallion always got extra brushings, Buttermilk the oldest nag got clover from the pasture over theirs, and so on and so forth. Thomasina got groomed, but only after Carol loaded her with enough rope that the mare could do little more than breathe afterward.

Thomasina's temper had seemed to cool in a year's time, and she no longer tried to bite Carol, even whickering to her when Carol passed by to give the other horses attention. Carol hadn't been fooled by her – Thomasina had once acted soft to her before and what Carol had gotten in return was a bruise the size of Alaska.

Carol hadn't paid attention to the way Thomasina's head lowered when she got brushed, or how she stopped fighting Carol when she locked her down so she could groom her.

Carol had never liked Thomasina; her wild temper, her unpredictability, and most of all, how Carol unknowingly broke her in and never realized it.

When Carol went out to feed the horses, she'd noticed Thomasina's head was missing from the top of her stall.

Carol had found Thomasina on the ground, unable to get up, groaning. Carol opened the stall and entered, having set aside the horse-feed.

Thomasina didn't up and only continued groaning, raising her head to see Carol, with her eyes rolling in her head. Carol hadn't known what to do, but when she'd left to go get pa, Thomasina had let out a nicker, and Carol hadn't been able to leave. She fed the horses, and left them to go stay with Thomasina.

Thomasina had tried to get up a few times, but only toppled over and skinned her knees in the process. She gave up after the fourth try, and lowered her head to touch Carol's knee until she sat down next to Thomasina, patting her strong neck. The mare kept alternating between groaning in pain, and nickering quietly to Carol. As if she couldn't decide whether to be in pain or to be happy that Carol was finally petting her.

Carol had brushed her mane, pet her forelock, and murmured to her all the while. She'd skipped school and would hear about it from her pa, but Thomasina was more important.

She remembers when Thomasina raised her head to put her muzzle at chin-level and blew air at Carol. She remembers crying when Thomasina did that, as if the mare was apologizing and forgiving Carol because she knew she wasn't going to last.

Carol had fallen asleep at one point, leaned up against the side of the stall was Thomasina's head in her lap, fingers curled in her mane.

Her pa had found her in the late evening, and had been about to raise hell with her until he'd seen Thomasina's state. She hadn't raised her head from Carol's lap, her eyes were glazed and her ears barely registered Carol's pa.

He'd pursed his lips and told Carol to mind the mare until morning.

Thomasina hadn't lasted that long. Carol's hand, trapped by Thomasina's chest, felt the mare's big strong heart stop pumping only a couple hours after her pa had found her in the horse stall. She'd died putting her muzzle into Carol's free hand.

Now, years later, after an apocalypse happens; her husband is dead, her baby is dead and all she has for family are stragglers banding together.

There's Daryl, a younger man, with a spitfire temper and an unpredictability that makes him wild and dangerous. When Carol looks at him, she thinks of the tan and white mare she used to have but never had the patience of really bonding with. Mean tempered things are often made meaner out of neglect.

Carol had been able to break Thomasina, but let her distrust and initial dislike for the mare blind her to that fact until the mare had died.

Carol looks at him joining the pissing contest between Rick and Shane, and withholds a sigh. He's another Thomasina, and will bite her just like the mare had. She knows he's out of his element with so many different people, who don't seem to like or trust him.

He's like a stray dog outside the circle of a pack, looking for a place to call his own.

Or, like a wild horse put into a tamed herd.

Carol knows that this time around it isn't just a horse depending on her for comfort and companionship, but a person. She's learned to be patient, and to be firm and gentle. It's upsetting to look back on how she failed Thomasina, when the mare had been showing signs of depression and possible signs of affection for Carol.

The stakes are higher this time, because it's a person, not just a horse.

Carol watches Daryl stalk off, kicking rocks out of his way and sighs again. She puts her hands on her knees and groans as she hauls herself up. She can't gentle a person by giving them apples and brushing their hair, or blowing into their nostrils.

If there was one thing Thomasina had taught her though, it was that loneliness was the easiest way to gentle anything.

Carol follows Daryl out to lend an ear.


End file.
